


Promises and Proofs of Concept

by SabbyStarlight



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: 4x06 A Timeline and Place, And who better than with his best friend, Angst, Episode Tag, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Please don't read if that could be triggering, Q is so close to reaching his breaking point that I just needed him to talk it out, Quentin and Julia are best friends and nothing more, Vague contemplation of suicide but nothing graphic, queliot, you'll never convince me otherwise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 09:22:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SabbyStarlight/pseuds/SabbyStarlight
Summary: Eternal rest coming from hands that had ruled a kingdom and poured drinks and made love, hands that Quentin had watched age for fifty years, right alongside his own, well that wasn’t such a bad way to go.





	Promises and Proofs of Concept

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, I’m tagging this episode too… I thought this was gonna be a one-time thing because I was feeling all the Queliot feels after Escape from the Happy Place but that scene between Q and the Monster was just so good and it just struck me as really important that Julia was there and I wanted to drag that moment out some more because I love their friendship. So thank you to everyone who read and left such positive comments on my first trek into this fandom, hope you enjoy this one too!

When Quentin finally woke up he was in a bed. On his side, head resting on a pillow with his arm slung around another, holding it tightly, protectively, to his chest. He was still dressed, he noticed, his sleep-muddled brain slowly taking in the pull of denim across his bent knees. His shirt was unbuttoned though, and his feet were bare. He sighed contentedly ignoring the slight twinge in his side, rolling onto his back and stretching out. It had been too damn long since he had actually slept, let alone in bed, and this one was exceptional. Huge, with a mattress that had to be made of at least a solid foot of clouds, and high-quality sheets that he was pretty sure even Eliot would be impressed by… 

Eliot. 

The name hit him, sudden and hard, as if someone had dropped a cinderblock straight onto his chest. Oh, Eliot. He closed his eyes tight, trying to stem the tears he could feel quickly rising, and forced himself to keep his breathing regulated. It was a good thing he was as relaxed as he was, when the realization of why exactly it had been so long since he had slept finally dawned on him, because if he hadn’t been he would have been in for one hell of a panic attack. Still a possibility, Coldwater he told himself as he remembered what exactly had happened before his nap. Why what had started out as a slight annoying stitch in his side had suddenly turned into a throbbing ache that rivaled the one in his heart. 

Eliot’s hands, but not really his own, scrambling across the tile floor, grabbing at the pills there. The blind panic Quentin had felt, at the realization that wouldn’t just be hurting Eliot’s body, if he took them, but Eliot himself. And he was flying through the air, crashing into the wall with sudden hurt blossoming across his back and into his ribs but he didn’t care. And then, as if that hadn’t been enough, those hands were suddenly on him; squeezing and hurting him. The same long, elegant fingers, that had shown Quentin nothing but kindness and joy and affection, were threatening to choke the life right out of him and he couldn’t find it in himself, in that moment, to care. Eternal rest coming from hands that had ruled a kingdom and poured drinks and made love, hands that Quentin had watched age for fifty years, right alongside his own, well that wasn’t such a bad way to go. He had only wished that it were Eliot’s eyes, not the Monster’s cold haunted orbs, staring back at him. He remained steadfast though, promising himself that if this really were how his story ended he was going to go out still searching for any trace of his Eliot left amongst the creature’s face. 

But then it was over. The monster left, storming off, pouting. And then there was Julia, with her soft hands that somehow remained steady, and gentle words, and strong, familiar arms that pulled him into a hug and held him together as he fell apart. 

“Q?” Her voice called softly, as if summoned by his thoughts. “You awake over there?” 

He turned his head in the direction of the sound and forced himself to open his eyes. She was sitting in a deep purple chair beside a window with a spectacular view of the New York skyline. There was a stack of ancient leather books beside her and one spread open on her leg, the other leg bent upward, balancing a notebook on her knee and her hand was holding a pen. If their world hadn’t gone entirely to hell, it could have been any ordinary day. “How long was I asleep?” He asked, knowing that time off wasn’t something he was given anymore. 

“A few hours.” Julia shrugged, marking her page in the notebook by closing it around the pen as she stood up and set the books down. “You needed it.” 

“Has he been back?” Quentin asked, staring out the window, even as Julia left it to move towards the bed. 

“You really think you would have slept this long if he had? She asked with a huff. “But I’m not worrying about him right now, Q.” 

“You need to be.” He argued, though his voice lacked all conviction. “Jules, he’s in there. I can’t let that thing hurt him. Can you imagine? If we’re doing all this, running ourselves ragged trying to find a way to bring him back, only for his body to be too far damaged for him to come back to? ”

“Well, what do you think it’s gonna do to Eliot if we get him back just in time for me to tell him that you let it kill you?” Julia pointed out. “You’re my number one priority right now, Quentin. I’m all for saving Eliot, I’ll do whatever it takes to get him back, I swear, but I’m not willing to do it at the expense of losing you.” 

Quentin didn’t answer, he remained unmoving, not even bothering to look in her general direction. 

“Hey,” she nudged the mattress with her knee, jostling the bed just enough to get his attention. “Mind if I lay down?” 

He shook his head no and reached over to pull the sheet down for her but didn’t otherwise respond. 

“Q, look at me.” She ordered softly, once she was situated in the bed beside him. “We’ve gotta talk about this sometime.” 

“What is there to talk about, Julia?” He asked, voice breaking, as he flipped over in bed to face her, his eyebrows drawing into a wince as the sudden movement pulled at his newly formed bruises. 

“Hey,” She admonished, laying a gentle hand on his side. “Careful. I checked you over and don’t think you broke any ribs or anything but you’re pretty banged up. Take it easy before you hurt yourself more.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” He mumbled, closing his eyes because looking at her, so trusting and full of nothing but worry and affection for him, just made him hurt worse. 

“Bullshit. You matter, Q.” She promised him, dropping her hand down to capture one of his own. “You do. I’ve spent years trying to get you to understand that and I’m not giving up now. This world needs you, Quentin Coldwater. I need you.” 

“End of speech?” He asked, breaking the silence that had fallen when she had stopped speaking. 

“Depends,” She squeezed his hand. “You believe it yet?” 

“I believe that you believe it.” He answered with a weary sigh. “Is that enough?” 

“No,” Julia smiled. “But it’s a start. Let’s move on to part two.” 

“Of course there’s a part two,” Quentin muttered under his breath. “Save your breath. You get that I’m sad but there are still people who love me and need me. Don’t do something stupid because you feel like giving up. Ending it all isn’t a win. I’ve heard it all before Jules, from you, from my dad… Hell, I’ve heard it from half the psych wards in the city. I’m not going to kill myself over this mess, okay? I promise. Not when there’s a chance of us getting him back.” 

“That’s good to know,” Julia began, but Quentin continued talking before she could begin again. 

“But I’m not going to sit by and watch that thing hurt him, Jules. I can’t.” He paused to take a shuddering breath. “It told me he was dead. Gone. But he lied. Because El’s in there, I know it now, for sure. So who’s to say that he isn’t lying about taking better care of Eliot?” He huffed a wry laugh, void or any humor. “Does that cover part two?”

“It’s a good segway,” Julia admitted. “Cause part two is where you tell me when exactly you fell in love with him.” 

Quentin’s eyes snapped open in surprise at the words. Loving Eliot. It was so strange to hear someone else saying it. He himself had spent months, after El had rejected him when they made it home from the mosaic, training himself to ignore the fifty years of loving Eliot he had coursing through his memories. He hadn’t told anyone, and as far as he knew, Eliot hadn’t either, not even Margo. But judging from the small, knowing, smile on her lips, Julia knew. 

“How di… Wha… When did?” He stammered over his words, too many questions mingling with embarrassment for his thoughts to form properly. “What gave it away?” He asked finally. It never crossed his mind to attempt to deny it. 

“You can stop with the blushing.” Julia grinned, and for a moment it was as if time had skipped backward. To before Brakebills and Fillory, before James even. When magic was just a carefully executed party trick and Julia and Quentin could spend a lazy Sunday afternoon in the heart of New York City, napping and reading and procrastinating over homework and teasing about crushes. But then reality came crashing down around them again. “It’s pretty obvious, Q.” 

“Okay,” Quentin sighed. “Well, how long have you known?” 

“How long have you?” She countered, arching her eyebrows suggestively with a smirk.

“I asked you first.” Quentin let go of her hand to run his through his hair nervously. “What do you know?” 

“Honestly, Q?” She asked, “I thought something might have been up the first time I met him. When you two came strolling into the bodega with the flying book? I don’t know, it was just how he looked at you… how standoffish he got when he saw how much you cared about me. But you were your typically oblivious self, and I was too busy worrying about myself at the moment to really care so I let it go. But something changed, between then and now, and you’re not telling me I’m wrong so...” 

Knowing there was no point in holding back now, not when Julia had pieced so much together on her own, Quentin began. “Remember when El and I went on that quest to the mosaic for the key?” 

“The one Margo got from Jane Chatwin.” Julia nodded slowly. “Wait, Q, did you solve the mosaic? The beauty of all life?” 

“We did,” Quentin confirmed, not able to hide the smile that tugged the corners of his lips upwards at the thought of their shared life. “Eliot and I.” 

“You jerk!” Julia teased, reaching out to lightly slap his arm. “You got to be in the books twice! Talk about not fair! But, wait, in the books…” Quentin could see the wheels spinning behind Julia’s eyes. “There was just one guy… and he was, like, ancient.” 

“Pushing eighty,” Quentin admitted. “It was a riddle. The beauty of all life? The answer was just to live it. And, God, we did Julia. El and I. We lived there, beside the mosaic in this little cottage, though it was just a shack when we got there; We turned it into a home. We fell in love and it was as easy as and as natural as breathing. We raised a son, Jules. Together. And yeah, we made friends, but nothing like what we had here, so it was mainly just... us. We’d spend our days working on the mosaic and our nights in each other’s arms and it was perfect.” His eyes welled up with tears, thinking of the lifetime of memories he had pushed aside for so long. “We grew old together and then he died and I was alone.” 

“Q.” She sighed, scooting closer to him in the bed and pulling his head to her chest. “Why didn’t you ever tell me? Wait, no screw that, if you remember all this why didn’t you two give it a go here? In this timeline? I mean, clearly you still love him, why didn’t you tell him…” Quentin felt the exact moment she fully understood. Julia might not have had her powers anymore, but there was a special ability that came from true best friends, where words weren’t always required. This was one of those moments. “Oh, Q.” 

“Yeah.” He wiped his eyes on the hem of his still unbuttoned shirt. “As soon as we got back I suggested exactly that. Giving it a go here, in this life.” 

“Why the hell did he say no?” Julia asked and Quentin could tell that she was quickly delving into overprotective mode. “Remind me to kick his ass when we get him back.” 

Quentin smiled. “No, Jules, it’s okay. I’m past it. Or, at least I thought I was.” 

“No offense, Q,” Julia said, gently rubbing a hand up and down his back. “But this doesn’t look like he’s something you’re over.” 

“I’m just worried about him, Julia.” He admitted softly. 

“Because you know he’s still there?” 

“That.” Quentin agreed. “And because I think he might have changed his mind.” 

“About?” She asked. 

“About me.” Quentin squeezed his eyes shut tightly, hoping he wasn’t wrong. “About the two of us.” 

“Q,” Julia cautioned. “I’m all for getting him back, you know I am, but you can’t go getting your hopes up about something like that. It’s entirely out of your control.” 

Quentin shook his head, knowing in his gut that he was right, and sat up suddenly, spinning around on the bed to face her and crossing his legs beneath him. Reliving those precious memories had rekindled a fire in him and he stared at her, needing her to understand. “What did he say, Jules? Eliot. In the park, when he broke through?” 

“Um,” Julia sat up to be at eye level with Quentin, trying to recall the hurridly spoken words, searching for a hidden meaning she had missed. “He said your name and told you it was him, you called bullshit but he kept on, something about… about proof of concept?” Quentin smiled and she gasped as the full memory came back to her. “Fifty years,” she whispered. 

“Who gets that kind of proof of concept?” He finished for her. “That was my argument, Jules, when I was trying to convince him that we could work here just as well as we did in Fillory. And he turned me down, with a decent argument of his own but somewhere along the line, I don’t know, I think he changed his mind.” 

“You think?” She echoed, not wanting her best friend to get his hopes up only for them to be crushed again, this time in his already fragile state. 

“I mean, it’s not like I got to talk to him for long.” Quentin sighed, running his hands through his hair again. “But yeah, I’m pretty sure. Even if I’m wrong, if I’m, I don’t know, reading too much into this, I still have to get him back. So I can know for sure.” 

“We’ll get him back, Q,” Julia promised, reaching out to grab his hands. 

“Not if that thing inside him keeps living on pills and tequila and churros,” Quentin said with a sigh. “This was so much easier when I thought he was dead. I’m glad he’s not,” He hurriedly corrected. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m so, so glad. But it majorly ups the difficulty level.” 

“You just have to have faith,” Julia said, squeezing his hands. “Faith that if it really is meant to be, it’ll all work out.” 

“Yeah.” Quentin scoffed. “Cause we have such a stellar track record of everything just falling perfectly into place. This isn’t some fairy tale, Jules, where true love saves the day. I got to spend a lifetime with him. We loved each other for fifty years. Why should I be lucky enough to expect that kind of thing to happen twice? We need a plan, not faith.” 

“We need both,” She insisted. “Because good things happen to good people, Q. I truly believe that. And you, Quentin Coldwater, are nothing if not good. So if you work on coming up with a non-life-threatening plan and promise not to do any more stupid shit, like, I don’t know, letting that thing choke the life out of you right in front of me,” Quentin smiled a sheepish grin and reached up to rub at the barely visible fingerprint sized bruises on his neck. “I promise you, I’ll keep faith enough for both of us.” 

“Deal.” Quentin agreed, and when his eyes met her’s again they weren’t quite as haunted. 

“And when we get him back, and yes, I said when because it’s gonna happen Q, I’ll be here for you, no matter what happens, okay?” She promised. 

He reached out, aching ribs be damned, and pulled her into a hug. “Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. 

 

“What are best friends for?” She asked, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, thumb stroking along the stubble on his jawline. “Just, no more hiding life-altering romances from me, okay?” 

He tossed his head back to laugh at the apartment’s ceiling. “Trust me, Jules. If this works out the way I’m hoping it does? The entire fucking world’s going to know.” 

And that right there, the thought of getting to see Quentin honestly and truly happy, for maybe the first time in this lifetime, was all Julia needed to stay true to her word and keep enough faith for the both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> So, there’s that. Thank’s for reading, hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
